


I Have Amnesia

by RoboRadchill



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, mention of attempted suicide in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 22:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoboRadchill/pseuds/RoboRadchill
Summary: Trowa woke up in the hospital with no idea who he was, who these loud boys were claiming to be his friends, or why one in particular made his heart move in a very special way. 3x4Angsty twist on a 'I have amnesia and you say you’re my best friend but I keep on forgetting and thinking we’re lovers AU'. Will have a happy ending.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

I’d been sleeping after emerging from the void. Resting my eyes really. I was fully aware of the happenings around me. When I woke up two hours ago I had first cataloged the noises around me, the steady beep of the heart-monitor, the hum of air through the vent in the ceiling, even the soft twitter of birds outside. Then I had opened my eyes and took in the room, white and sterile, half closed off by a curtain. A hospital room. I took stock of my body in the bed. I had a cast on my right arm; so it must be broken, and a heavy bandage around my head. Under the covers there were more bandages on my legs, but my right arm seemed to be the worst of the damage. There was no immediate pain, meaning I was drugged. And though I felt only a pleasant fogginess in my head I was somehow horribly confused.

Why was I in the hospital?

I let out a wispy sigh and rubbed my cloudy eyes. I tried to remember the events preceding the void and had a worrisome lack of idea.

More importantly, I pondered, who was _I_?

Not long after that realization I pressed the button on the remote beside my bed and summoned a nurse. A male nurse rushed into my room seeming shocked that I was awake and just as confused as I was at my lack of memory. That was when I learned my name. Trowa Barton.

From there chaos ensued as the nurses and doctors of Mercy’s Wings Hospital tried their damndest to understand why a young man brought in for injuries from a traffic accident would have no recollection of who he was. Over the course of the next couple of hours the doctor subjected me to numerous exercises designed to test my brain function. Two different scans were performed and my medical history file was brought in and consulted. The folder, I happened to notice, was relatively thick. This evidently was not my first stay at Mercy’s Wings. Finally a diagnosis was reached.

“Mr. Barton, it appears you have retrograde amnesia as a result of a brain injury you suffered two days ago.”

That seemed rather unfortunate.

I had just closed my eyes to rest and wait for more decisions to be made when the door opened, though no voice announced a presence. Believing it to be the nurse doing a routine check I kept my eyes closed.

“Trowa?” I turned my head slightly toward the voice, a little bothered by the interruption. Truthfully, I was tired after all the excitement and my latest dose pain meds hadn’t kicked in yet. I’d much rather have been left alone. I waited but the voice didn’t speak again. But neither did it leave. I opened my eyes. The young man standing beside my bed was neither a nurse nor a doctor. He stood some five feet away, his light-blond hair rumpled on one side and his starched, white button-down wrinkled. I could just see the end of a navy tie poking out from his pocket, where it had presumably been shoved some time ago. Gray bags hung beneath his eyes and he had his arms wrapped around himself. He was healthy looking, of average height, and fit, but standing there beside my bed he looked frail, like his legs were barely holding him upright. I wondered at the shine glossing his eyes and was met with a small, but sincere smile. “Hey.”

I stared at him, having no idea who this man was or how I should address him. Afraid that this handsome boy was supposed to be important to me. Over his shoulder I saw the nurse watching our interaction with pitying eyes. “I’ll give you a few minutes while I call his sister.”

The boy visibly jumped at the other voice, but still faced the nurse with a gracious smile and suddenly dry eyes. “Thank you.”

Only after the nurse left and clicked the door shut behind him did the boy turn back to me, his smile wilted and dead on his lips. He took a seat in one of the two chairs on my right and dropped his hands to his knees. “The nurse told me you have amnesia, so you’re probably really confused right now, right?”

I stared at him blankly in place of an answer.

After a too long silence he took a deep breath and looked at me. Whatever he saw in my deadpan look caused a smile, full of teeth and light, to spread across his face.

“Sorry. That was a dumb question wasn’t it?”

“A little.”

He laughed then, quietly, this stranger in my room, and it sounded like spring, or a secret.

“That aside, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. I’m a friend of yours. We’ve known each other since we were fifteen,” And after a pause. “Ah, you’re twenty now, by the way.”

I nodded as I stored this information. “Okay.”

Quatre wasn’t at all fazed by the lame response. “I don’t know what all they’ve told you, but you were in an accident while riding your motorcycle. A car hit you from behind,” Quatre looked down as he told the story, I watched as he wrung his hands and fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “You were really lucky you didn’t die. Two of our friends were with you. They called the ambulance and brought you here.”

“And I was in a coma for two days,” I added. That much I knew. That had been the void.

“Yes,” Quatre said breathlessly.

We fell into silence then. Quatre still looking at the floor with eyes focused on something very far away.

“I have an older sister,” I said at last, breaking the silence in an attempt to draw Quatre back from wherever he had wandered within his head. Somehow I felt that leaving him adrift wasn’t right. We were supposed to be friends after all. He looked back at me with a thin smile and ran a hand through his mussed hair. I noted that smiles were Quatre’s second nature. He offered them freely, and yet this one felt empty.

“Yes,” he said. “Cathy. She’s your older sister. She had to go to work, though I’m sure she must be worried sick.”

“Why did the nurse call you first?” I asked. Quatre had arrived before the nurse had even thought to call Cathy.

“Actually I was already here. In the waiting room,” he explained with a slight, embarrassed flush. “Hoping for good news.”

“How long were you there?” I asked. The fact that it looked like he hadn’t slept all night went unsaid.

Quatre rubbed the side of his face tiredly, looking at the door. “Since I heard about what happened. Yesterday.”

No wonder he looked rugged and tired.

“Thank you,” I said and Quatre’s gaze snapped back to me, surprised.

“Of course,” he replied firmly, holding my gaze. Then he added with a toothy smile, “it’s not the first time I’ve spent the night in a waiting room over you and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

My chest felt simultaneously weightless and tight with feeling. Appreciation. And inside my damaged head I thanked whatever brought Quatre to my past self. I couldn’t imagine I had done anything to deserve him.

Quatre had finally given himself permission to step away long enough to get a quick coffee from the vending machine down the hallway when my door flew open and another stranger addressed me.

The young woman stomped her way to my bedside, curly hair swinging around her head and hands balled into threatening fists. I leaned away as she approached and wished for Quatre to return with his coffee. He, at least, could give me an idea who this furious woman was.

“Trowa Henry Barton, do you have any idea how worried I was about you?” She snarled, stopping on my left to lean over me. In a lower voice she continued, “if we weren’t in a hospital I would punch you into next week.”

At a complete loss, I looked to the door for mercy and thankfully found Quatre stepping over the threshold. He glanced up from his cup of coffee and paused, head tilted as he took in my visitor. After a moment her identity dawned on him and he made his way back to the chair on my right, settling down with a polite smile, “Hello, Catherine.”

Cathy stomped and stormed for ten minutes before the doctor arrived to speak with us, although it felt much longer. At one point she bordered on a heated exchange with Quatre when she realized he hadn’t called her the second I woke up. Quatre was quick to defend himself, explaining that the doctor’s took me for tests as soon as I’d awoken. He’d only been allowed back to see me himself a little while ago. I wondered at how calmly he delivered his explanation. He didn’t seem at all surprised that Cathy had attempted to blame him. Even more intriguing was the stir in my chest that leapt to my friend’s defense.

Thankfully the doctor arrived soon enough.

“I should really only discuss Trowa’s condition with immediate family,” the doctor said, pointedly looking at Quatre’s seat beside my bed.

“There is no law saying I can’t be present for this meeting, Doctor,” Quatre spoke with a voice like steel. “And I’ll be hearing it from someone in any case. Better now than later.”

The doctor leaned back with narrowed eyes and looked to Catherine. She nodded impatiently, more concerned with my condition than Quatre’s presence. The doctor gave a short sigh and began.

“I know what you’re most concerned about is Trowa’s apparent memory loss. Well, Trowa has a severe case of retrograde amnesia. When he fell off his motorcycle the impact of his head on the street caused the damage. As of right now his brain appears to be in otherwise good shape, but starting immediately he’ll be prescribed some medications in the hopes of repairing the damaged caused during the accident. We have no way of knowing when or if his memory will return, but considering his history of head injuries I must tell you the probability is not high.” The doctor paused then. “And I recommend selling the motorcycle.”

I frowned at that, offended by the doctor’s condescending remark. Sure the present me wasn’t attached to the vehicle, but the old Trowa must have cared about it a great deal to keep riding after so many injuries. Beside me I heard Quatre give a breathy laugh, “fat chance of that.”

Cathy had listened to the doctor’s speech in tense silence. I saw her shoulders drop when the doctor revealed how unlikely it was that I would fully recover. By the end she was sitting straightly again, blue eyes blazing. She reached for my hand and held it tightly.

“Trowa will recover. I know it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

The doctor decided that I should be observed overnight before being released and allowed to get into any more trouble. Cathy was disappointed, but not surprised. She and Quatre stayed by my side most of the afternoon and attempted casual conversation, not wanting to overload me with information about my missing life. It was hard to interact with them, though, having no idea what was acceptable behavior for Trowa Barton. Could I mention obvious lack of similarity between Catherine and I? Did I dare ask about the previous head injuries I’d suffered? Was it normal to be attuned to every slight shift in Quatre’s mood?

I didn’t know.

Finally, the excitement of the day began to weigh on me. I admitted that I wanted to rest and waited for my visitors to leave me in peace. Cathy assented fairly easily, only pausing to make the nurse promise to keep a close eye on me. Trowa Barton was evidently prone to breaking out of hospitals. Quatre watched her with obvious amusement, leading me to believe he had been an accomplice to more than a few of my reckless actions. What else could explain the proud smile he wore during Cathy’s warning?

It was mid-morning the next day when more visitors arrived to see me. I had been awake for a few hours answering the nurse’s questions in between episodes of some reality show. At first I didn’t think the noises in the hall were in any way connected to me. The voices were far too boisterous and loud, even obnoxious. Surely Trowa Barton associated with quieter, more conscientious people? Then voices stopped outside my door and through it I heard Quatre’s quiet, but stern voice remind the others that I might be asleep. One voice let out a loud snort and made some dismissive reply.

The door swung open and four young men stood in its threshold, only one familiar face among them. Quatre led the way into my room, smiling when his eyes met mine. A warmth I hadn’t felt since yesterday afternoon settled in my chest.

“Good morning,” he greeted as I turned down the television with the remote that doubled as my emergency call button. “Cathy is working so we decided to come pick you up, if you don’t mind?”

“Hey, Trowa. How’s the head feel?” One of the nameless boys said as he dropped into one of the chairs beside my bed. Quatre moved to take the other chair while I watched the mystery boy prop his black boots on the edge of my bed. He was taller than Quatre, I noticed, with waist length brown hair tied back in braid. His cheerful face stared back at me waiting for a reply.

“Fine.” I said not knowing what sort of answer this boy would approve of. His face sank into disappointment.

“No change in your personality, I see,” he mumbled. Not knowing how to respond I turned to observe the other two strangers. Both were shorter than the first. One stood facing the window. He appeared to be Chinese, with his hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. The other leaned against the wall beside the television staring me down with as much curiosity and I showed him. None of them made a move to introduce themselves. We were at a stalemate. Until Quatre spoke up.

“Guys… please,” he implored giving each of the young men a pleading look. The two standing ignored his request after sparing him a glance, but the third, the one sitting beside Quatre sat up slightly, a dawning realization clear on his face.

“Oh, right!” He said, turning to me with a cheery smirk. “Duo Maxwell, I may run and hide, but I’ll never tell a lie.” He paused then, seeming to try and remember something. “We met… twelve? No, thirteen years ago. Maxwell Orphanage. You were basically the same then to.” He finished with a grin. “You’re turn, Wufei.”

So I had lived in an Orphanage for a time. Did that explain my obvious differences from Cathy? Where were our parents? Where were mine?

The Chinese man standing by the window grunted in acknowledgement and turned to face me. His hands were held stiffly behind him, his back and shoulders straight. He looked me over once and began his formal introduction. “My name is Chang Wufei. We attended high school together.” With a sly glance at Duo he added. “More than once you have stopped me from strangling Maxwell.”

I smiled a bit at the idea. I had friends. I defended my friends, maybe even teased them. At my side I heard Quatre cover a laugh with a cough. My smile grew.

The last man stepped up to edge of my bed. He was shorter than the others, but muscular, almost stocky. I thought he might be Japanese, but I couldn’t be sure.

"Heero Yuy. We also met at Maxwell Orphanage fourteen years ago. I’m the one who gets yelled at when Quatre finds out the dangerous things you do.”

“That’s not true!”

“You’re right,” Heero amended with a smirk. “He sometimes yells at you to once you’re out of the hospital.”

I looked at Quatre who had crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair with a huff. I caught a faint ‘well excuse me for caring’ and felt warm.

“Thank you, Quatre.” I said, catching his eyes. I sincerely meant it. I was grateful to have someone as kind and compassionate as Quatre in my life. I didn’t think there were many who would have spent all night in a waiting room for an orphan with a tendency toward danger. Quatre’s face lit up, blue eyes becoming wide and his sweet smile even wider. My throat was tight and I returned a slight smile of my own. He was stunning.

“Alright! Who’s ready for a breakout?” Duo said swinging up from his chair and giving our group what could only be called a shit eating grin. As I moved to get up it struck me how much I liked these young men already. Perhaps old Trowa and I weren’t so different after all.

Some twenty minutes later Duo was pushing my wheelchair out the front door of Mercy’s Wings, pretending to lose control of the vehicle at random intervals along the way and nearly dumping me on the sidewalk when he suddenly stopped in front of a dusty, black truck.

“Voila!” he said coming around my side and gesturing grandly at the truck.

Quatre came to my other side and helped me lock the wheels on the chair before I tried to stand, and as we did I heard Wufei grumble. “I still don’t understand why we took Maxwell’s piece of junk. We won’t all fit.”

I glanced up at the truck, mentally counting seats. Wufei was right. At most there were four seats in the cab of the truck. We were a group of five.

“It’s fine,” Heero said walking up to the back of the truck. He pulled himself over the side and settled down onto the bed. Quatre helped me stand from the wheelchair, one hand hovering over my back and the other holding my left arm, I didn’t tell him that despite the cast on my right side my balance was perfect.

“See? No big deal,” Duo said, opening the passenger side door and moving the seat forward. “Besides, this truck is important memory-material. Trowa and I took our first joyride in this baby.”

Evidently, Trowa Barton not only rode motorcycles and broke out of hospitals, he also took joyrides. Quatre gave a short laugh before climbing into the back of the cab, sliding over till he sat behind the driver’s seat. I watched as Wufei ducked down to follow him and said, “Yes, because the first things we want him to remember are juvenile crimes.”

Duo rolled his eyes at me once Wufei turned away. I shrugged. Any memories would suit me just fine.

To my surprise rather than dropping me at my home, the truck pulled into a parking space at a small, though seemingly bustling diner. And before I knew what to say about the turn of events Heero had jumped from the bed of the truck and opened the passenger side door. Considering the decision made, I maneuvered out of the raised cab, being mindful of both my broken arm and the two foot drop to the pavement. Once on the ground I stopped to read the sign above the restaurant, _The Circus Diner_.

Behind me, Wufei struggled to move the seat up and climb out without hitting his head.

Duo came around the front of the truck and leaned back against the hood. “Any of this ringing bells yet?”

I shook my head, my eyes following Catherine through the windows of the diner as she waited tables. This was where she worked. The realization brought wave of nervous energy over me. Surely people in there would know me. At the very least Catherine’s coworkers would recognize me and expect me to do the same, possibly more. The town didn’t appear very big considering how quickly we had gotten to the diner from the hospital. How many people would want to know what happened, where the _real_ Trowa Barton was?

“The doctor said it would take time,” Heero said from he stood on the sidewalk, watching me with the same curious eyes as before. “Leave him alone, Duo.”

“Fine, I was just asking,” the taller boy grumbled, pushing off the hood. Quatre finally dropped down from the cab and shut the door behind him. The blond straightened his pressed shirt while the others made their way to the door. Once they were inside, and he deemed his shirt acceptably smoothed out, he look up and caught my eye with that familiar slight smile.

“Ready?”

I took a slow breath and nodded, and when he walked toward the door I stopped myself from slipping my palm into his and holding on. Because if anyone could help me get through the coming chaos I knew it would be Quatre.


	3. Chapter 3

****

**Chapter 3:**

The diner was unlike anything I could have imagined based on the bland exterior. The inner walls were painted with broad red and white stripes, presumably to resemble a circus tent, but one would hardly know that since most of the space was covered in a myriad of posters, some circus related, but most not. An assortment of booths lined the walls, the seats of each a different gaudy color, and some tables filled the center of the space, likewise painted in bright hues. In the corner stood an old jukebox, covered in cartoon lions and elephants, riddled with half-torn stickers and graffiti. It seemed the counter that separated the dining space from the kitchen was the only thing untouched by the circus theme. It stretched out long and silver with generic red stools lining one side.

Heero and Wufei made their way over to the booth in the farthest corner, completely ignoring the sign asking that customers wait to be seated. Duo started to follow them, but veered away when he recognized someone sitting at the counter. A young woman with short black hair spun around on her stool when he wrapped loose arm around her shoulders. The two began talking animatedly and the woman took out her phone to show him something on the screen. Noticing that I hadn’t joined the others, Quatre followed my gaze as I watched the interaction.

“Hilde.” He said kindly, eyes focused on the pair. “She works with Duo at Howard’s repair shop. They’re probably talking about the big parts delivery that was supposed to come this morning.”

So Duo had a job. Did the others? Did Quatre? Did I? The questions buzzed around my head, reminding me of all the little things I didn’t know. It wasn’t just a few names I couldn’t remember, there was a whole life I’d forgotten. I opened my mouth to voice one or any of these inquiries to Quatre and found myself standing alone.

Quatre sat across from Heero and Wufei in the chosen booth. I made my way over to join them and sat gingerly beside the blond man.

Not much later Duo joined us, pulling up a chair from the nearest table. “Way to save me a seat, guys,” he griped as he sat.

“You know the rule,” Quatre said, shaking his head. “The last one to the table pulls up a chair.”

“In fact,” Wufei chimed in with a sly smile. “I think it was your idea to make that a rule in the first place. Something along the lines of ‘Ya snooze, ya lose.’”

Duo groaned and dropped his head to the table dramatically, seemingly more upset at having his friends throw his words back at him than actually having to pull up the chair. Heero patted his shoulder with something pretending to be sympathy, but dropped his hand when Catherine sidled up to our table, pen and pad at the ready.

“I thought you boys were taking him home,” She said, leveling the playful mood with a stern look. “He just got out of the hospital.”

“I feel fine, Catherine,” I quietly defended. The young woman’s face softened slightly as she turned to me, but she still looked me up and down, as if making sure I was telling the truth.

“Besides, you know Quatre wouldn’t let him do anything dangerous right away,” Duo chimed in. “He has to work back up to it.”

The effect of his joke was immediate. Catherine’s gaze flew to the blond man, dark and angry. Quatre tried to meet her glare with dignity, but for some reason this time her disapproval was too strong and he had to look away. He cleared his throat, but said nothing. Stunned by the animosity between two people I must have cared strongly about, I turned back to face my sister, ready to defend when I was interrupted.

“We’ll have five hamburgers and fries,” Heero said. “And some Cokes.”

Catherine looked surprised, obviously expecting some sort of confrontation as well, before she took down the order on her pad and walked quickly to the kitchen, looking as much like she was escaping as like she was being merciful. The rest of us sat in uneasy silence until finally Wufei could keep quiet no longer.

“Good job, Maxwell,” He seethed.

“It was just a joke!”

We made casual conversation after that. No one seemed to want to explain the previous scene to me, and wary of their hesitance, I didn’t ask. Duo and Heero told me about the diner, how the three of us used to hang out in this booth every day after school as kids, and that even after our group had grown to five we’d never given it up. Duo pointed out the gouges left along the edge of the table. One had each of our initials. Another had some math equation Duo had carved one day out of spite while Heero tutored him. There was another in front of Quatre that appeared to be a few notes of music. Quatre smiled as he traced it gently with his finger. I had carved that one, he said.

We were just beginning to eat when Quatre’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out quickly and frowned at the screen as he read the caller’s name.

“Just a second, guys,” He said, swiping the screen and holding the phone to his ear. “Rashid?” There was silence for a few minutes while Quatre listened to the caller, and as he did I watched the easy, openness slip off his face and something professional and detached take its place. “Yes, I’ll wait for you outside the diner…Okay, goodbye.”

“Meeting?” Heero asked with heavily veiled interest.

“I’m afraid so,” Quatre replied. He reached in his pocket and placed a ten dollar bill on the table. “Excuse me, Trowa” He said, turning to get out of the booth. I stood and moved aside to let him pass. It was unnerving to hear his voice so detached and without feeling. Worried, I put a hand on his shoulder as he passed me.

“I’ll see you later.”

He stopped then as if remembering something, and looked at me, that modest but genuine smile back on his face. My shoulders relaxed. “Yeah.” He said. Satisfied, I released his shoulder and watched as he made his way to the entrance, but just before the doors he stopped and looked back at us. “And stay out of trouble!”

I smiled and Duo threw his arms out theatrically, replying, “Okay, _mom_.”

I heard Heero snort into his burger and Wufei raised a hand to wave goodbye.

As I settled back into the booth to finish my fries, a small smile still on my face, I thought that I was very lucky to have these friends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

We finished our burgers in no time, with only one small fight when Duo stole the largest fry off Wufei’s plate, and soon we had paid and were making our way to the door. As we approached it was pushed open from the outside and a man and woman in Sheriff’s uniforms walked through. The man stopped in front of our group and I watched the look on his face pass through slight surprise before settling on indifference. The woman who came up beside him smiled warmly.

“Hey, boys,” she greeted us, pushing her black bangs from her forehead. Her blue eyes settled on me and I straightened in apprehension. “Trowa, it’s good to see you out and about again. You had us worried the other night.”

“I’m fine now. Thank you.” I said calmly, wishing for the exchange to end before she realized I had no idea who she was. Her smile was open and engaging, but her eyes were sharp.

“Heero, have you looked at those files I sent you?” The man asked, ignoring the rest of us.

Heero returned his hard gaze. “I’ll email you later with everything I found. I think it’s enough.”

The man nodded and moved past our group. From behind I could see the long swath of platinum hair that fell down his back. The woman followed after him with a parting smile and wave. As she caught up to him her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Duo caught my eye as we left the diner and, seeing my puzzlement, let out a loud laugh. “That was Sheriff Zechs and Deputy Noin. Noin helped us out a lot when we were teens and got in over our heads. She’s too good for a schmuck like Zechs.” He said opening the truck’s driver-side door.

I looked back to Heero who was leaning against the truck while Wufei struggled with the passenger seat. He met my stare with one of slightly less curiosity. “I sometimes analyze files for their investigations. Off the record.”

I realized that couldn’t have been within police regulation, and that Heero was much too young to be an experienced consultant, but the way he explained it, as nonchalantly as if he sometimes walked their dog, there was nothing to be concerned about. I was coming to realize that was Heero’s way.

And so we piled into Duo’s truck and left the diner behind us. Duo decided to drive us through our small town, pointing out landmarks from our childhood. First we turned the corner of Main Street and Duo let out a full laugh.

“When we were eleven you and Heero stole the street sign from this corner. Last I heard you still had it somewhere.”

Wufei pointed out the petshop that had been my first job.

“They were so disappointed when you quit; said the cats wouldn’t stop meowing for days.”

We passed a small ice cream shop that Heero smugly explained Duo was banned from entering.

“Oh please, it wasn’t even that good.”

We saw the elementary school and then the high school next door.

“Oh, dudes. Remember when we broke the window of the science lab trying to open it sophomore year?” Duo said cheerfully.

“Yes, and I also remember Yuy dropping containers full of who-knows-what off the roof whenever he got the chance.”

“It was an experiment.”

We drove beside the beach and over the rocky hills along the coast. Duo was quiet here and Wufei watched the waves with a stern eye. I began to wonder if the real Trowa disliked the beach as well when slowly Heero reached a hand forward from behind me and pointed to a lone picnic bench overlooking the waves.

“You and I used to drink there.”

Eventually Duo called an end to our tour. He had to return to the Howard’s garage and finish some repairs before five. Wufei also had to leave as he was supposed to teach an afternoon lesson at the Kung Fu studio in an hour. So Duo pulled up to a nice two story home on some quiet residential street and dropped off Heero and I.

As we stood together on the sidewalk I examined the house. This was where I lived. It was a generic house from the outside. Tan siding and brown shutters. The lawn was green and trim. A dog barked from two doors down. It all seemed standard and, dare I say it, normal. For some reason this seemed the most out of character aspect of real Trowa’s life. I noticed the attached garage and wondered if my motorcycle was inside, lying in pieces and waiting to be put back together.

Heero shoved a hand in his pocket and brought it out with a key. I watched curiously as he walked over the yard and up to the door, unlocking it smoothly. When he turned back and saw me staring from the curb he frowned and waved me forward.

“Don’t look like that,” he said, opening the door. “I live with you.”

“Oh.” I said, because I didn’t know what else to fill the space with. Heero, my housemate, closed the door and untied his boots, leaving them neatly beside the door. I slipped out of my sneakers and watched him. I couldn’t deny being relieved that someone was with me in the unfamiliar home. And only a small part of me wished it was a gentle blond instead of Heero.

“I moved in with you and Cathy right after I turned eighteen,” Heero explained as I followed him to the kitchen. “We split the rent three ways. That’s how we could afford this place.”

I followed him through a living room. In the center was a faded floral-print couch and white coffee table. A TV perched on a stand against the wall. Heero walked on and passed through an archway into the kitchen. I followed, trying to ignore the photographs decorating the walls. I didn’t want to see them yet.

In the kitchen, Heero pulled out two glasses and filled them with water. I waited in the entry way until he handed me a glass, memorizing which cabinet he opened. Without a word he passed me and the living room, returning to the entry way.

“Your room is up the stairs and to the left. Cathy’s is on the right,” He explained, opening a door beside the stairs which led down into a dark basement. “My room is down here.” His tone made it clear that this was where we would part ways. I remembered the email he promised to send Sheriff Zechs.

He took a half step down and paused, turning back to appraise me. I could almost see the gears turning in his head as he wondered whether he needed to stay with me. I appreciated his concern, but I wanted some time alone as much as I imagined he did.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, taking a sip from my glass. I cast my eyes to the top of the stairs and wondered if that was true.

Heero stared for a moment longer, as if giving me time to change my mind, before he nodded and descended into the dark basement. “I’ll be down here if you need me.”

Trowa’s room was right where Heero said it would be. The door had been left open and I could see the corner of a desk from the hall. I took a moment to breathe deeply before I stepped over the threshold.

The room was dark. Heavy curtains blocked any light from the two windows. I had to turn on the overhead light to see anything more than shadows. The walls were a dark navy and a matching comforter was tucked neatly over a bed in one corner. I passed it in favor of a cluttered desk. Nuts, bolts, and other bits and pieces were scattered over it and between an assortment of papers. The drawers were similarly filled, though one or two held mechanical blueprints or motorcycle magazines. A sleek laptop sat shut on one side.

A black bookshelf and dresser stood against the far wall. I skimmed the titles for some hint about the real Trowa. Most were repair manuals or engineering volumes. Not surprising considering the contents of the desk. However, there was one entire shelf dedicated to poetry anthologies and novels. They looked old, some well-worn and others simply classics. I wondered how many times Trowa had read them. Where he gotten them? Which was his favorite?

The dresser was neatly organized and militant. A single picture frame sat on the surface. In the photo three young boys stood in front of an old building, arms slung around each other and happy. The one in the center looked out with a wide, cheeky grin. A dark braid fell over his shoulder. Duo. On the left another boy had dark chopped hair. He didn’t smile, but his arm held fast around his friends. Heero. And on the right was the third boy with a slanted smile. One eye peaked out from behind auburn bangs, staring out at me. A picture of Trowa.

It must have been an important picture to have a place of honor on the dresser, but I had no idea when it was taken. I could guess that it was from my time spent at the orphanage with Duo and Heero, and we couldn’t have been older than ten, but it was unnerving not to _know_. Duo and Heero could probably recall the day with ease. I felt the beginning pull of a headache. Maybe I should have asked Heero to stay. Maybe I shouldn’t have come up alone. 

I went to the closet next, determined to find out all or nothing. Inside were the normal contents of a young man’s closet. Slacks and worn jeans hung beside soft white shirts and jackets. In the back I found what looked to be a clown costume, complete with puffy pants and pointed shoes. I tried not to think about that too much. It only made my encroaching headache worse.

On the floor a few boxes sat neatly sealed and labeled. One held an old play station and some games. Another was full of sheet music. A smaller box was tucked in behind the others. Inside were two college acceptance letters and scholarship information. An ROTC pamphlet was buried between the pages. I put the box back, wondering why it seemed hidden.

Leaning against the boxes at the front of the closet was a small black leather case. Inside a beautifully shining flute rested on deep green velvet. It was an incredible instrument. Did I play the flute? The corner of the case was stamped with a seal marking it as a piece from the Winner Family Conservatory. Had Quatre given it to me? When and why?

The headache was pounding in full now. My body was heavy, the painkillers for my arm were wearing off and I was growing frustrated. Why couldn’t I remember? What was I supposed to do?

I sat heavily on the bed and my left hand tugged through my hair. I shouldn’t have come in here alone. Questions circled in my head, spinning and lashing at me. Who was I? Was I really Trowa? Would I ever be Trowa again? It was too much and there were no answers to be found.

I was swallowing back a scream when I felt a soft, insistent buzz at my side.

To my right on the navy bedspread were a square, brown wallet and a phone. The buzzing signaled a new message on the device. So, being careful not to jar my broken arm, I lifted the phone and, thankful that Trowa hadn’t set a combination to unlock it, swiped open to the home screen.

Since the accident I had missed five calls and five text messages. Two of the calls were from Cathy. The others were unknown numbers who had left voicemails. One of the texts was also from Cathy, and one from Duo, but three were from Quatre. Still frustrated I thumbed open Quatre’s messages, hoping his presence, even indirectly, might act as a balm.

_Hey. Sorry I had to leave so suddenly. I got called into an “important” meeting, even though I told them I was taking the day off. I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you._

I settled back against the headboard as I read. The message was so like Quatre, if I had the authority to say that. It was direct and polite, but still sincere. He cared how I felt about his absence. That new but somehow familiar warmth settled in my chest and I scrolled on to the next message. It had come forty minutes after the first.

_I can’t believe they called me in for this. It’s almost as if men twice my age can’t decide which commercial they like better. Oh wait. It’s exactly like that._

I smiled at the screen. I was lucky. What a gift that I was close enough to Quatre that he would message me casually to share his frustrations. He trusted me enough to share his feelings about things wholly disconnected to me. That light and squeezing feeling bloomed in my chest again.

_How’s it going? Is everything alright there?_

The last message had come when I sat down. As if he had known when I started to lose my grip. It was likely coincidence, but I couldn’t keep from imagining that he knew when I needed him most. Grateful and hopeful, I sent off a reply.

**It’s weird. Everything is weird. **

It wasn’t much, but it was true. And I felt that Quatre would understand what I meant, even if I didn’t. His response was almost immediate.

_If you need to talk to call me anytime. I mean it._

A wave of something impulsive washed over me. I missed him. I was still lost. I still hurt. But I didn’t need those answers right now. I just wanted Quatre. I wanted that easy smile and gentle voice to tell me things were okay. That I was okay. I pressed the button to call before I could convince myself not to. He said anytime, so why not now?

It rang and rang and then there was a blessed click when he answered.

“Hello?” Quatre ventured, uncertainty colored the word.

“Hey, you busy?”

“Hey,” he sighed. I could practically see him leaning back in a chair, shaking his head with that sweet smile spreading on his face. It could have been a memory for how vivid it was. “Not at all.” There was a pause then. “I’m glad you called.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Quatre and I talked about easy things; the weather, his meeting, how he was trying and failing to decrease his caffeine intake. Quatre asked me how I liked the tour of town, and I told him the truth. It made me uncomfortable and a little sad. Confused. He made a soft sound of sympathy, or empathy, but we didn’t say more. He avoided topics related to our past, and I made no attempt to stop him.

This went on for half an hour before Quatre was asked to be part of a conference call with some representatives. He was reluctant to hang up and kept reminding me to call anytime. He made sure I had Duo and Wufei’s numbers as well and wouldn’t end the call until I assured him that I felt fine and Heero was nearby if I needed him.

“You must think I’m being so overbearing,” he said. “But, you’ve always bounced back from injuries before. This time… I’m just worried.” He ended. His voice was quiet and sad.

I didn’t know what to say. It was the first time it occurred to me that Quatre, and the others, had lost someone. The Trowa they knew was gone and I was probably a pale imitation. Did I disappoint them? Did they want the other Trowa? Did they love the other Trowa?

“I understand,” I said even though I didn’t. “I’ll talk to you later.”

My head was full of too many thoughts again, and the fatigue that had bombarded me before our call had come back with a vengeance. The phone read only 2:46pm. Plenty of time for a nap before dinner and presumably more questions.

As I settled under the comforter and into the sheets I opened the wallet I had found. Inside were the normal contents of a wallet; license, debit and credit cards, a gift card to Home Depot, $60 cash, a check that needed to be cashed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

However, there was one item of interest. Hidden behind my social security card. A small, folded photograph. The picture was of Quatre and myself and seemed to have been taken without our knowledge. It couldn’t have been more than a year or two old. In it Quatre and I were in a tent, lying in sleeping bags beside each other, sound asleep and curled toward one another. Quatre’s head was ducked to fit just beneath my chin and his hair was messy with sleep. We weren’t touching, but there was a soft sort of intimacy to it. A pull, even in sleep.

I wondered why the real Trowa had the picture hidden away in his wallet and why it was of only the two of us. Had he carried some deeper feelings for Quatre? No one had mentioned a relationship, or even a crush. Was his love unrequited? Did Quatre even know about the picture?

More questions without answers. Or at the very least with answers I wasn’t sure I was prepared to know. I couldn’t blame real Trowa for carrying a torch for Quatre, if he did. Quatre was beautiful, inside and out. It had taken me less than two days to realize he was special. Anyone would be lucky to love and be loved by him, myself especially.

I lay back against the pillow and stared at the picture. Regardless of the feelings that may or may not be behind it, it was a nice picture and worth keeping. I closed my eyes and imagined the scene. The quiet of a tent somewhere away from mysteries and questions, and Quatre’s warmth and easy breaths beside me. Yes, I couldn’t blame Trowa for holding onto the photo, it was the most comforting thing I had seen since waking up in that hospital room.

I awoke sometime later in a dark room parched and with my stomach cramping and rolling uncomfortably. The clock on the phone read 6:56pm. I had slept for over 4 hours. The picture of Quatre and I was beside me on the pillow where I had put it as I fell asleep. I carefully hid it back in my wallet before I rose. I needed something to eat.

Near the bottom of the stairs I heard the television in the living room. Someone was watching a sappy, and from the sound of it poorly acted, romance movie. I had a hard time believing it would be Heero’s choice of entertainment.

Sure enough, Cathy sat in front of the screen eating something out of a bowl with her legs stretched across the sofa. When I passed her quietly on my way to the kitchen she did a double take before nearly jumping from her seat and coming after me.

“Oh, you’re awake!” she pushed past me and began digging in the fridge. Her arm came out with a small plastic container. “I brought you some soup from the diner. When Linda found out you were hurt she insisted I bring it home for you.”

I nodded and reached for the soup, Linda was obviously someone else I would have to ask about, but Cathy ignored my hand and began pouring the soup into a bowl herself and placing it in the microwave. Then I watched her dash about the kitchen gathering a glass of water and some prescription bottles, which she arranged on the counter in front of me.

“You also need to take your pills. I was going to wake you up in fifteen minutes and make you take them if you didn’t get up on your own.”

I looked at the handful of drugs in front of me. There were five in total, and I knew the doctor had explained what they were for but for the life of me I couldn’t remember now. I would need to go over their directions carefully later. I couldn’t depend on Cathy to play nurse for me, no matter how enthusiastic she seemed.

“Thanks.” I tipped back the pills with some water. The microwave beeped, but when I lowered my glass Cathy hadn’t moved to turn it off. She stood stiffly in the center of the kitchen, watching me with watery eyes. Unsure, I set the glass on the counter.

Then all at once she lunged forward and pulled me into a fierce embrace. I winced at the pressure on my broken arm, but didn’t push her away. Some part of me knew better, knew that my sister needed this. Cathy hid her face against my shoulder and muffled her voice. “I was so scared you wouldn’t be okay.” I couldn’t find the words to tell her that I wasn’t.

As quickly as she had grabbed me I was released and Cathy stood in front of me with red, but dry eyes. The moment was over when she reeled back and punched my uninjured shoulder. “If you ever get hurt like that again I’ll kill you myself,” she said with venom in her voice.

I nodded, still dumbstruck as she fetched the bowl of soup and set in on the small kitchen table.

“Well,” she snapped, sitting in a chair beside the bowl. “Sit down and eat.”

Slowly, and not a little unnerved, I sat and began to eat under Cathy’s watchful gaze. It felt a bit like being a baby chick under the protection of its wild mother. And it reminded me that I had not met our parents. Or even heard of them.

I opened my mouth to ask and Cathy met my gaze, waiting.

“Uh,” I started. What question should I ask first? There were so many. Each more personal and prying than the next. “Why is there a clown costume in my closet?”

Cathy stared at me for a long, silent heartbeat. And then mercifully she began to laugh. Air began circulating in the room again and we both relaxed.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “That must seem strange. Don’t worry, though. It’s nothing weird. You sometimes perform at kids’ birthday parties. Blowing up balloons and doing cartwheels, that kind of thing. It was the old mascot costume for the dinner. You said you didn’t want to see it go to waste.”

So one minor weight was lifted off my already breaking shoulders. Cathy watched me with guarded eyes and a smile, as if knowing there was more I needed to ask. “Where are our parents?” I ventured.

The merry atmosphere was sucked out of the room then. Cathy leant back in her chair, eyes going dull. Sad. “They passed away six years ago. In a car accident. It’s been you and me since then.” She huffed. “And Heero, recently.”

Oh. I had not expected that, though something had told me her answer wouldn’t be a simple one. Six years was a long time and also no time at all. I was ashamed of my own feelings, or lack thereof. They were strangers to me. They were my parents and yet I couldn’t remember them.

A hand covered my own and squeezed. Cathy sent me a small, but brave smile.

“It’s okay, Trowa. We’re okay.”

I nodded. Cathy was a good sister, I could tell, and she had no doubt worked hard to keep us together after our parents died.

We talked more about our family. Cathy explained that our father’s parents lived a few hundred miles away, and that we routinely saw them for Christmas, but were otherwise independent. We’d never known our maternal grandparents, and we didn’t have any aunts or uncles.

“So we’ve always been sort of on our own,” Cathy said, “Do you want more soup? Anyway, we never minded. You, especially, always had an independent streak. You wouldn’t even take our last name when you were adopted.”

“Barton isn’t your last name?”

“No. It’s Bloom.” Cathy smiled. I stared at the wooden table as that information settled. I wanted to ask why, but I wasn’t sure even Cathy would know. What kind of person was Trowa Barton, really?

Cathy must have read the confusion on my face and hurried to offer some explanation.

“You never really explained why, but Duo and Heero both say you picked the name for yourself at the orphanage. You saw the name Trowa Barton in a magazine and decided that it was good enough for you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Weird, right?”

We talked for a while longer and Cathy told me more about our parents. She said our mother was a free-spirit who ran away from home the day she graduated high school and never looked back. She met our dad as she passed through town a few years later and they were engaged within two weeks.

“It was so fast,” Cathy laughed, sipping her tea, “but they never regretted it. They said they just knew, as soon as they met each other. They knew it was right. And then after I was born, and we adopted you, it was perfect.” She looked up then, and met my eyes with a determined look. “They loved you, Trowa. They were so happy when you became part of the family.”

I nodded. I wanted to tell her that I knew, but I didn’t.

Finally Cathy had enough of talking. She offered to watch one of her movies with me, but I declined. The story of our family was weighing on me. I needed to find somewhere to breathe.

I was making my way to stairs, back to the dark quiet of my room, when I passed the ones leading to the basement. The door had been left open, and I could just barely hear noise coming from the depths. Heero was down there.

I didn’t know much about Heero, or our past together, but he struck me as someone trustworthy. Someone who wouldn’t pry. And right then I desperately didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

Heero’s room took up most of the basement and seemed to act as a combination bedroom, hangout, and office. A messy bed was pushed into the corner next to the stairs with shelves on either side. Opposite the stairs was a large desk with three dark computer monitors perched on the top. The noise was coming from the large flat screen TV on my left. Heero sat on the sofa, fingers swiftly moving over the console controller, his back to me as he played. His character moved smoothly through the game’s environment, stopping only to shoot enemies on its way.

I stood on the bottom stair for a moment wondering if I should just leave him alone. Heero also didn’t strike me as the social type. I didn’t know the protocol for bothering him in his own room.

“Are you going to come play or stand on the stairs all night?” Heero asked without turning from the screen. That seemed to be the best invitation I would get from my oldest friend.

“Do you have another controller?” I sat beside him, sinking into the overstuffed leather cushion. Heero quit his game and synced up a second controller without missing a beat, paying no mind to his unfinished level. He passed me the remote with a curious smirk on his face.

“Do you remember how to play?”


End file.
